


I'm Afraid the Ground Will Swallow Me Whole

by theonline



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Immortality, M/M, decades long longing, immortality AU, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4723331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonline/pseuds/theonline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had barely aged. A couple of wrinkles had collected around Will’s eyes, but that was it. He noted that Will had dropped the American accent and he sounded like home. Dan felt himself break.</p><p>“I just don’t want to be alone anymore.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Afraid the Ground Will Swallow Me Whole

**Author's Note:**

> I've literally been working on this for over a year. Mainly because I've been lazy and lost interest, then regained interest, then lost interest. You know how it goes. I've made and remade this post about four times now.
> 
> There's probably a couple discrepancies when it comes to the timeline and all that. I tried my best to fact check.
> 
> I know Teseo opened in London and not Rome, I just got tired of looking for a specific opera that opened in Rome during the right time period I was looking for. Forgive me.

**November, 1857** :

Dan walked hurriedly through the London streets, the collar of his over-coat flipped up to protect his neck from the winter chill. His hat did nothing to prevent his ears from turning red. There was a hole in the back brim. He wasn’t sure how the hole got there seeing as he borrowed it from an old man that lived next to him.

He yelped as he slipped and almost fell on a patch of ice on the sidewalk. Dan looked around to see if anyone had noticed and when he determined he was safe from embarrassment, he continued walking. The Royal English Opera was hosting open try outs for a piano player. Their old one died in the fire last year. It was tragic, of course, but it was also an open job for Dan, whose cash was getting uncomfortably low.

Dan jumped to the side as a buggy rode by, splashing dirty, half-melted snow in his direction. Some got on his pants and he cursed under his breath. There wasn’t any time to stop and wipe his trouser leg. He soldiered on. The winter breeze nipped at his ears, making them sting more. The large opera house loomed over the horizon. A shiver went up Dan’s spine as he saw workers rebuilding the opera and he wondered how cold they must have been.

As he approached he saw a sign that pointed auditioning pianists to the back entrance. He checked his watch and saw that he was almost five minutes late, but judging by the fifteen or so other men waiting outside the back, it didn’t matter. They were all balancing their weight from one foot to the next, blowing into their cupped hands and rubbing them to keep their fingers from going stiff. Dan nodded a ‘hello’ at the man next to him. He looked to be in his forties. The man scoffed, but in a gentlemanly way that Dan wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t still looking at him.

Every man was a ‘gentleman’ in this half of the century. It irked Dan.

His face itched where his stubble already began to grow in. He was the only one in the crowd with a shaved face. All the others had finely shaped moustaches and trimmed beards. One even had the largest sideburns Dan had ever seen. He also appeared to be the youngest as well. And the poorest. His over-coat was a size too big. The wife of his elderly neighbor had to take in Dan’s vest three inches so it at least appeared to fit, and despite wearing braces, his trouser cuffs were soaked from the snow.

Dan was going to get the job, though. He’s had years of practice. His fingers might be frozen solid, but they’ll warm up once he gets inside.

Almost twenty minutes after the printed time on the advertisement, a short man appeared at the back entrance door and rushed everyone inside. The door led to the backstage area and they followed the man to the main stage, where a grand piano sat stage right. Next to it was a beautiful, young woman with a demure smile on her face. She wore an expensive afternoon dress with gold trim and a nipped waist. Her blonde hair was up in a bun and Dan found himself staring at one curl that hung next to her cheek instead of listening to the man’s instructions. All he heard was that his surname was Lloyd, and that he would be choosing who auditioned at random.

Lloyd called on the man that scoffed at Dan outside. He bowed at the young woman before he sat down on the piano bench. The man warmed up and as he began to play, Dan recognised it as a piece from _Teseo_. The woman began to sing as well, a full, beautiful soprano, and Dan couldn’t help but look at her. He watched her hands shake at her sides. She wasn’t older than twenty.

He fell out of his trance as the men around him began to clap wildly. The woman curtseyed and the man bowed again.

“You,” Lloyd said, raising his chin at Dan. “What’s your name?”

“Daniel Smith, sir.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five, sir.”

“You look about sixteen.”

“So I’ve been told.” The woman giggled. Dan considered the audition a success even though he hadn’t touched the keys.

He was called onto the stage, in front of all the rich looking men, who he could see mumbling to each other. Most likely about his outfit, or the small scab that had formed on his jaw from where he nicked it shaving this morning. The woman’s hands were still shaking, but his weren’t. He knew _Teseo_ well. He remembered sailing to Italy in 1797 to see it its opening weekend and having sex with the lead girl. He was rich then, and two week long excursions to Rome were so common for him he actually considered buying a small flat there. Now he can’t even afford a fitting dress suit.

Dan played the song as best he could from memory, occasionally looking down at the sheet music. He paid more attention to the woman, whose named Dan learned to be Elizabeth, as she sang. His fingers were thawed out by the time he reached the final note, and the men clapped as Elizabeth hit a high note, Dan included. He bowed and headed off stage, happy with his performance.

It took an hour and a half for the auditions to finish and Lloyd stepped out of the room for another ten minutes to decide on who would be playing.

“I need Isaac Wood and Daniel Smith to stay, the others may leave.”

Dan listened as the men grumbled and complained over the twenty-five year old doing better than them as he followed Isaac, the man with the sideburns, back onto the stage. Lloyd pulled Isaac out of earshot from Dan. Dan rocked back on his heels and scanned the auditorium for Elizabeth, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“Daniel,” Lloyd called. He was so short that Dan had to look almost straight down to make eye contact. “I’m taking a great chance with you, we don’t usually hire musicians so young. You are Isaac’s understudy, so you will have to learn the entire show as well. You’ll get twenty-five pence for every week of rehearsal, and a pound for every show you get to perform, which is dependent on Isaac. We begin rehearsing the third of January.”

All Dan could manage was to nod. Twenty-five pence wasn’t a lot, but it was world’s better than having to rely on the money he had saved. He walked out the front of the opera house with a smile on his face. He started to think of everything he’d be able to do with the extra money.

“Daniel?”

Dan turned around and saw Elizabeth standing behind him wearing a coat with a collar laced with dark fur. His face lit up.

“Hello, Elizabeth.”

“You remembered my name?”

“I would hope so. We’re working together now. Somewhat. I’m only the understudy.”

“It is a better position than the other men that auditioned.” Dan nodded and the two were silent for a moment. “The reason I stopped you is because others that work at the opera and I like to go to the Wide Lady once a week. I was wondering if you wanted to join me.”

“I’d like that a lot, actually.”

“Good! Wonderful!” She smiled and it beamed brighter outside than in the stuffy auditorium. “I’ll be there tonight around six.” Elizabeth waved as she climbed into a buggy. It wasn’t until she rode off that Dan realized he should’ve helped her board. Dan felt giddy, something he hadn’t felt in a while.

He walked back to his flat, the wind still biting at every exposed inch of skin that he had. He returned the hat to the old man and gave his wife ten pence for the tailoring his vest. Dan looked at the table in the living room.

A newspaper was sitting outside the door to his flat. He scanned it as he walked in, throwing his over-coat on the couch.

_“FAMED ENTREPRENEUR MISSING_

_William Farquarson, owner of Gentleman’s Beard Oil, was discovered missing yesterday morning. Authorities searched the young man’s London flat, yet found it to be completely abandoned with no sign of his whereabouts. Farquarson was to be wed to the eldest of the Van Horn children, daughter Lucinda, this Friday. For now, authorities believe this to be a case of prenuptial nerves, but continue to search for the future groom.”_

At the bottom of the page was a portrait drawing of the missing William. His moustache was artfully curled and his beard was thick and well-groomed, like every other man from this century. It was a rough sketch, one that couldn’t have taken more than an hour, but something still nagged at Dan. The missing, soon-to-be-wed, actor looked vaguely familiar. Maybe Dan had walked past him at some point walking somewhere doing something. He shrugged and slipped it in the trunk under his bed and never thought of William again.

**May, 1923:**

The Parisian sun was warm and a light breeze blew through the streets. Dan was sitting at a small metal table with four other people outside a café he had been going to every day for the past two years. He reached in front of him and sipped on his café au lait. The others were speaking French, but he was able to identify random words and phrases: _new book, never met him, piece of shit._

“Come on, now, don’t be so rude,” Dan interjected. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“But you admit it could’ve been better.”

“Every novel has the potential to be better.”

The four groaned and rolled their eyes at him. Dan laughed and admitted that, definitely, the book could have been better.

Dan moved to Paris shortly after the Great War. He had to make himself disappear from his job at the opera around 1897, thirty years after he first auditioned. Being ‘fifty-five’ and not looking a day older than the day he first auditioned wasn’t a good cover. Isaac died of pneumonia in 1864, leaving Dan to take his job. Dan felt he was the better player, anyway. Elizabeth was offered a job in Italy a few years later. She accepted it and Dan hadn’t heard from her since.

He moved out of his small flat without notice and never notified anyone at the opera. It killed him to see articles in the paper about close friends looking for him. After three weeks, the search was called off, and he was presumed dead. It wasn’t the first time he had to do this. He knew it was for the best. Dan waited a year after his ‘death’ to look for another job and leave his new flat for more than ten minutes.

Dan had money saved up so when the owners of the small theatre said that there might be some weeks he wouldn’t get paid, he didn’t worry. Dan went by Robert then. He played piano and helped sweep the stage after the show. Whenever the cast went out after a performance, he paid for the rounds.

When he caught wind that artists were flocking to Paris, he decided to follow. He befriended fellow English ex-pats, and along with their American friends, Dan found himself in the middle of a rowdy, talented group. He went by Michael Dunn in Paris and published short stories in American, English, and French magazines.

His friend, Kyle, threw the book on the table, spilling multiple coffees. “His shit gets published, meanwhile I got my third rejection letter for my novella this morning. It’s bullshit. America has no taste.”

Dan reached over and grabbed the book. He flipped through the pages until he reached the back cover flap. It featured a short paragraph about the author, and a picture.

                _Joseph Vaughn is the critically-acclaimed author of_ The Fires in London _and_ Glow. _He graduated from Cambridge University in 1913 and published his first novel the following year. Vaughn currently resides in Paris._

The picture made Dan do a double take. It was a profile shot of Vaughn looking down, but Dan swore he recognized the man in the picture. Straight nose, slightly protruding brow, pouting lips surrounded by a close-shaven beard.

“I think I’ve seen him before,” Dan mumbled.

“He does live in Paris, same arrondissement as us, too, apparently. It’s not surprising if you have.”

Dan shrugged and asked Kyle if he could borrow the book. Kyle grumbled an ‘I don’t care’ and the large group split, leaving an extra tip because of the mess.

Dan sped home. He was eager to see if his suspicions back at the café were right. He ran up the four flights of stairs to his flat. A cat that had adopted Dan sat in the kitchen window as he reached under his bed to take out the century-old trunk. He flipped through the decades-worth of newspapers until he reached the 1800s. Most of them were yellowing at the edges, including the one that loudly boasted ‘ROYAL OPERA HOUSE NEAR COMPLETION’ as its headline.

A hunch told him it was the right one and he skimmed each page looking for the drawn portrait. It was on the third page. He placed the back flap of the book next to the portrait in the paper and studied them for a minute. Same nose, same brow, same lips. The beard was thicker in the newspaper, making his face look rounder.

The similarities, from what Dan could see, were too alike to be father and son. The timing fit, however, and it threw him off. William could’ve disappeared, found another wife, and had Joseph with her. Dan figured he’d have to get a better look at Vaughn.

He sat up and called Kyle.

“Do you know if that Vaughn guy has any book signings coming up?”

Kyle groaned. Dan listened as Kyle dug through papers and grumbled. “Why would you betray me like this? I thought you were my friend, but you want to go to that shit’s book signing.”

Dan sighed and regretted calling Kyle about this. “It’s to mock his fans for falling for his weak prose and foolish idea of a plot, obviously.”

He heard Kyle groan again. “Fine. Fine. I’ll call around I’m sure someone knows.”

Kyle called Dan later that night saying Joseph Vaughn had a signing tomorrow in a bookstore a few blocks from Kyle’s place. An anxious kind of excitement filled Dan as he hung up the phone, making it difficult to get to sleep.

Dan woke up, startled. A haze covered his eyes as if they were out of focus. As he looked to his right he realized he wasn’t alone. A man lay next to him. He slept on his back and Dan could see his chest rise and fall with each breath. He watched as the man stirred, stretching and smiling in Dan’s direction. Dan leaned in and kissed him, the stranger’s lips enveloping his. Dan felt his smile. The man sat up before kissing Dan again, slowly making his way down Dan’s body, kissing his neck, his collarbone, the middle of his chest. Dan felt heat rise in his stomach. All the while he felt the man’s beard scratch at his skin. It burned, but he liked it.

The stranger nipped Dan’s hip. He felt his cock twitch against his stomach. He licked a stripe up the underside of Dan’s dick. Dan felt himself moan. It had been decades since the last time he had any form of sex and he didn’t realize how much he missed it until now. The stranger’s lips, large and soft, wrapped around his cock. He bobbed his head up and down, making Dan grip the sheets. He mumbled words of direction under his breath, the stranger following each one. Dan felt himself get close, a slow burning fire pooling in his stomach…

Dan shuddered awake. His body from the neck down was covered in a red flush. The color of his face soon matched his torso as he realized there was a wet spot on his sheets. He ran a hand through his hair and fell back asleep, attempting to forget the dream.

* * *

The next day, Dan kept his dream quiet from Kyle. He tucked the book into his shoulder bag and made the walk to the bookstore. He found Kyle waiting outside, smoking and jeering at everyone that walked in.

“I swear to Christ everyone thinks Vaughn’s the cat’s meow. You should’ve heard them cooing on the way in.” The two walked inside, making their way to a corner of the store so they wouldn’t be in the way.

“Here’s your copy back, by the way,” Dan reached into his bag.

“Keep it. I was gonna burn it anyway,” Kyle said waving it away.

Kyle’s attitude kept up for the entire time he was there. About halfway through the signing, Kyle decided to leave, annoyed at the amount of people that had showed up.

Twenty minutes after the signing finished, the crowd had died down and Dan began make his way up to the table where William was still sitting. Dan watched as the crowd dissipated around him. William was standing up to leave when Dan made his way over.

“Would you like to get some coffee with me?” William eyed him curiously. “We could, I don’t know, discuss your book further, discuss other things, I’m a writer as well-“

“You want me to critique your writing.” It was a statement, not a question. He probably got this all the time and Dan cringed at how stupid he felt. He noticed he had trouble keeping eye contact with William. When Dan noticed the man from his dream was most likely William, his face burned again. He felt his knees shake.

“No, honestly, I just wanted to… get inside your head. A bit. Besides, I don’t even have anything I’ve written.”

Will paused, surprised by Dan’s proposal. Dan’s chest tightened, and as Will said an enthusiastic ‘alright,’ he felt a sigh of relief escape his lungs. “What did you say your name was?”

“Michael Dunn.”

Something bloomed in Dan’s stomach when Will smiled at him. They went to a café a couple miles from the bookstore. Will was animated in the taxi, already speaking about his writing process and inspiration behind the book. Dan didn’t see any of it as pretentious boasting and knew Kyle would have jumped out of the car by now. Will insisted on paying the fare, and for the coffees. Dan noted how there were words Will pronounced that didn’t sound American. His r’s were soft. Sometimes his ‘th’s sounded like f’s. His words seemed carefully chosen.

Dan had to rely on Will’s love for talking about himself to get through the conversation. Only part of his mind was listening to Will. The other part was trying to figure out a way to broach the subject of Will being like Dan. Maybe he could accidentally call him Will, or bring up his disappearance in 1857 as an idea for a short story. He could just come right out and say it. Will was on his third refill whereas Dan had barely touched his first. The conversation had moved away from Will’s book and onto a vacation he spent in Madrid. When Will smiled at him, Dan felt a twitch in his pants.

“Have you ever thought about immortality? As a concept. Hell, it could be the plot for an entire novel, even,” Dan interjected.

It was quick, but Dan was sure that Will’s eyes went wide for half a second. He went silent. Dan’s heart raced, unable to anticipate what Will was going to say. His face went stern and Dan knew he made the wrong decision.

“Science fiction isn’t really my thing. I’m sure if you wanted to try and write about that you could. Don’t know how well it would be received, though.” His eyes didn’t leave his cup of coffee.

“I’ve been dwelling on it, honestly.” Dan chose his words cautiously. “Like, a man, who’s immortal, believes himself to be the only one with this power. So he goes about his life trying to make the best of his situation, when one day he stumbles upon what he thinks is a familiar face. And he’s convinced this person is immortal as well.” Will’s eyes flicked up to focus on Dan. He didn’t know how to continue. Dan began to gulp down his drink, eyes not leaving Will’s.

“Is that it?”

“No. But that’s as far as I am with the plot.”

Will was quiet for a minute before saying: “Not to be rude, but it sounds like a bunch of bullshit.”

“Well, it’s still in its beginning stages. It’s just an idea I’ve been tossing around, that’s partially why-“

“Listen, no one’s into science fiction. That genre’s overused, anyway.” Will stood up, tossing a few francs on the table. “Think up something else and find me when you think it’s good. I’ll be around.” He rushed out and hailed a cab before Dan could process what was happening.

Dan took the leftover cash and used it to get home. The newspaper from 1857 was still sat on his kitchen table, flipped open to the picture of Will.

**June, 1985**

A couple months after Dan formally met Will, Will disappeared in the same fashion as in 1857. The most common rumor was that Joseph Vaughn moved back to America, bored with the Parisian life style. No one questioned it. Doing so was common for expatriates. Dan had to settle with the fact that he was, again, alone in the world until he could somehow manage to find Will. Knowing what little Dan did about Will, he assumed Will would pop up eventually as another celebrity. It seemed to be a common theme for him.

Dan took a risk and moved to New York City in 1980. He rented a large loft with three other people in Manhattan. Two of them were drug addicts and the other was a jazz drummer that was only awake at night. He grew up in England like Dan, but in a different time and nowhere near London.

Dan never felt more alone.

It was easy to get lost in New York and Dan did it often. He would wander into boroughs nowhere near his loft. People were shooting up in the streets, but Dan refused every drug he was offered. There were new things Dan had never heard of before. He didn’t want to take the risk that his immortality wouldn’t hold up to things that didn’t exist when he was born. He was almost a year short of two hundred; he didn’t want to fuck it up.

Dan thought back to Will. He wondered how old Will actually was, why he chose to hide, where he was. Dan didn’t just choose New York City because it would be an easy place to lay low for half a century. He thought that if Will would be anywhere, it would be here. Dan felt he overstayed his welcome in London after being a celebrated opera pianist for decades, why wouldn’t Will feel the same about being a well-known entrepreneur?

Dan walked down a street in Chelsea. He accidentally bumped into someone as he tried to light a cigarette. They were handing out flyers for a gallery opening that night. Dan took one and glanced at it. It was in the East Village. He figured he’d go. He headed to a pay phone and called his one roommate, Matty, who was into art and shit. Dan remembered him mentioning how he’d “suck Basquiat’s dick just to _look_ at Andy Warhol” while Dan thought to himself that he would suck Basquiat’s dick just to suck Basquiat’s dick. But it didn’t matter now.

“Yeah, sure, I guess I’ll go. Not like I have better things to do.” To Dan, Matty’s tone sounded like he would rather do anything else than go to the gallery opening with his wet blanket of a roommate. Dan shrugged it off and continued walking towards the gallery. He knew how the subway got this time of year with sweaty locals rubbing against sweaty, lost tourists. He didn’t want any part of it.

The streets were just as crowded with people stopping to look at buildings, or walking slowly to take in the scenery. Dan never understood. It’s buildings. They’re everywhere now. He heard one woman comment on ‘rude New Yorkers’ as he brushed past her. The locals kept their head down, attempting to walk to their destination without having to answer questions about where the Statue of Liberty was (Dan’s been asked thirteen times and he’d only been out for three hours).

The gallery was dimly lit. Dan felt pretentious just looking at it from outside. He glanced at his calculator watch and gave Matty ten minutes before he went in on his own. Everyone that walked in was wearing baggy clothes and plaid and berets. Dan looked at his torn-at-the-knee blue jeans and figured he’d blend in fine.

Time passed and there was no sign of Matty. Dan shrugged and walked in. A person by the door asked him for the flyer and he gave it to them. Dan had never heard of Nathan Bennett, the artist being displayed. He thought the art was shit, too, but didn’t mention it. He hovered by the small bar handing out free glasses of wine.

“Good shit, huh,” someone said within ear shot. Dan looked over and saw his roommate.

“I mean, I guess. I was never good at gauging the quality of art.”

Matty laughed. “Well if you want to give the artist your opinion, he’s the fella over there playing guitar.” He downed a glass of wine and immediately picked up another.

Dan laughed along. _Fucking of course the guy’s playing guitar at his own opening_ , he thought. He followed Matty’s line of sight and felt the glass of wine drop from his hand.

It was like seeing a ghost. Dan felt the heat rising to his cheeks as everyone, including the artist, in the gallery looked to the origin of the noise. He was thinner now, his arms more defined as they were wrapped around his guitar. There was a spider tattooed on his wrist. Dan ~~hoped~~ wondered if ‘Nathan’ remembered him. Nathan muttered something under his breath and continued to play.

“Listen, Andy, I’m trying to make a name for myself in the art community, so if you can not make me look like a tool in front of all these people, that would be sick,” Matty snapped.

Dan mumbled a ‘sorry’ under his breath and went to find a broom, or a mop, or a black hole. He saw a door at the far end of the gallery. It led to a closet with a mop inside it. Dan felt everyone’s eyes boring holes into his back as he cleaned up the wine. He delicately picked up the glass shards and threw them in the bin by the wine bar.

Dan followed Matty around, not listening to the comments he was making on every piece. Dan saw overly large heads and people drawn with animal bodies. Matty saw a statement. Dan couldn’t help himself and kept looking over at Nathan. His heart hadn’t stopped racing since he dropped the wine glass. It still felt like everyone’s eyes were on him. He mumbled over to Matty that was going to take a smoke break. He left before Matty could acknowledge him.

He left through a back door that led to an alley. It smelled like shit, but managed to keep Dan grounded. He hadn’t noticed that his hands were shaking as he went to light the cigarette. Dan closed his eyes and inhaled. He didn’t react as he heard the door slam behind him.

 “Are you following me?” Dan turned around and nearly fell over. Will was so close Dan could smell his aftershave. He was sure Will could hear his heart racing. Will grabbed Dan’s collar and pushed back. His eyes looked a pearlescent green from Dan’s angle.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Will had him pinned against the alley wall. “What do you want?”

Dan panicked. He didn’t know how to answer, or to react. Will was acknowledging him. Will was acknowledging that they had met before, despite that being over sixty years ago. They had barely aged. A couple of wrinkles had collected around Will’s eyes, but that was it. He noted that Will had dropped the American accent and he sounded like home. Dan felt himself break.

“I just don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Will let go of Dan’s collar, and he felt his feet slam to the ground. Will sighed. Dan wondered what was going on in Will’s head. If he was going to leave. If Dan would have to wait another sixty years to see him again. Will’s beard was shaved closer to his face. He scanned Will’s elbows to see if he followed the trend and started shooting up, but he couldn’t find any.

“Listen,” Will said softly, “I just like being by myself, okay? It’s nothing against you. I just prefer it this way.”

“But wouldn’t you like to be around someone that wasn’t going to die either?”

Will sighed again. “It’s less baggage being with people that are mortal. Surely you’ve found that out by now.”

Dan nodded even though he didn’t agree. “You can stay ‘til the end of the opening, but after that let’s just keep our distance, alright? It was nice seeing you.” Will headed back to the door.

“Can you at least tell me how old you are?”

Will smiled and held back a laugh. “Shit, I forget. Five hundred something? I’ve been around a while. You?”

“Almost two hundred.”

Will walked back inside. Dan followed. He hovered close to Will, who half-heartedly attempted to ignore him. When no one was talking to him, Will would pull Dan close and explain the meaning behind a piece.

“Being immortal has its perks, y’know? Like that book I wrote back in 1919? That was about the opera house fire. Were you around for that? I got a lot praise on its historical accuracy.”

“I used to work there after it was rebuilt. I played piano.”

Will’s eyes lit up. “No way! Do you remember Gentleman’s Beard Oil? I didn’t create it but I was the one that got it on the shelves.” Will had his arm around Dan, his hand clasped onto Dan’s shoulder. Dan’s heart felt like it was going to explode.

“I do, yeah. I have the newspaper where it says you went missing.”

“You’ll have to… never mind. That’s really cool. Do you collect them?”

“Just one a year.”

After a while, people began to slowly crowd around Will once more. Matty made eye contact with him and gave him a confused look. Dan unwillingly left Will’s grip and walked back over to him. He asked Dan how he knew ‘Nathan.’ Dan muttered something about a mutual friend. He went back to chugging the free wine and wondered if anyone had bought anything yet.

By the end of the opening, only a couple people remained, including Dan. Will saw him and made his way over.

“It was really nice seeing you, honestly. But you remember our agreement, right?”

“Distance.”

“Right.” There was an awkward silence between them. Will pulled Dan into a hug and thanked him for coming. Dan pulled away and gave Will a weak wave goodbye. Will did the same. Will watched Dan as he made his way back home.

**March, 2015**

London was foggier than Dan last remembered. There were skyscrapers, too. Dan remarked that he was older than all of the skyscrapers in London and it made him dizzy. There were hundreds of new roads that he had never heard of.

He spent two weeks in New York trying to find someone that would buy a plane ticket for him. Everyone asked questions he didn’t have the answers to. “Why can’t you do it,” “how do you not have an ID,” “are you even here legally?” In the end, he managed to pay off the captain of a freighter to let him aboard for cheap and no questions.

He gawked at the prices for flats and food and drinks. He didn’t know how he was supposed to get a job in this century. He would need identification and a birth certificate, all of which Dan somewhat had, but he figured a birth announcement in a centuries old church bulletin didn’t count. He nearly considered selling those to a museum, but quickly chased the thought out of his head. They were his only connection to what he called his First Life.

Dan spent a month squatting in an abandoned building a few miles from Piccadilly Circus. He lived out of the trunk he had had for as long as he could remember. Before he knew about Will, he would joke with himself that him and the trunk were the only two immortal things in this world. _I guess there are three things now_ , he thought.

It was creepy, and Dan would be the first to tell you so, but he found out where Will lived. It was a small studio in Greenwich Village. Dan knew Will paid for it with the money he had saved up being alive for over five hundred years. Dan even had it narrowed down to the exact one. It had a fire escape that Dan would sit on, out of Will’s view, and just watch him. He’d make food, he’d draw, he’d play guitar. He even walked around the place naked a couple times. It all made Dan feel guilty, but it was like he couldn’t help it. There was an external force making him go.

It would ask him: ‘I wonder what Will’s doing,’ so Dan would go and check. It would say ‘Will could be in trouble,’ so Dan would make sure Will was okay. Some days Dan didn’t even look in the window. He would just sit on the fire escape and write. It was something.

One day, in ’98, Dan climbed up the fire escape and saw that the studio was empty. The bed was gone, and the desk. All the paintings and drawings Will had hung up had been taken down. He’d moved out. Dan’s heart collapsed. He left soon after. The next two years he found himself hitchhiking across the country. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to find Will or not. Dan always had a slight disdain for being immortal, but for the next decade he wished jumping off a bridge actually meant something to him.

After a month in the abandoned building, Dan put an add on craigslist (which he had the _worst_ time doing because he didn’t even know how to use a computer and was too embarrassed to ask) saying he was looking for a permanent residence and can pay rent in cash. He got multiple replies, but they were all from suspicious looking men that probably only had a bed to rent and not a room. A week later, however, he got a message from a group of people “his age” that were looking for an extra housemate.

                _It’s mainly so we all have some extra cash at the end of the month to go to the pub, and buy more than just ramen for dinner. Your room wouldn’t be an actual bedroom, more like a converted dining room. We hope that’s alright. The rent would be about_ _£550 a month, but we know you just moved to London so you won’t have to pay that much until you get on your feet. We can discuss it later if you’re interested!_

They left an email address at the bottom of the message along with an attached picture of the three of them. Dan used his brand new one to reply. He decided to use his real name as well. He didn’t care what the room would be as long as he didn’t have to sleep on broken tile anymore. He lied in the email and said he had been living in various hostels since he first got back.

His housemates were shocked when he first walked in with his trunk and an overstuffed backpack.

“That’s it?”

Dan shrugged and nodded. They all lent him sheets and pillows so he wouldn’t have to sleep on just the mattress. When they asked him questions about the last time he lived in London, he kept the answers vague.

“So Dan, when did you move to New York?”

“Oh, a while ago.”

“Do you parents still live here?”

“You could say that.”

“Do you have a job lined up?”

“Yes…?”

After a while they left the room and let Dan get settled in. It was nice to be called by his First name again. He dug a notebook out of his trunk and wrote down a To-Do List before attempting to write something he could sell, if that was still a thing that happened. He got a couple pages before a housemate knocked and said everyone was going out to eat, if he wanted to come. And he did, for once.

When he was drunk enough, he swore up and down that the one waiter was Will. He shaved and somehow shrunk three inches, but it was Will.

“Is Will your ex or something?”

“Less call it tha’.”

Dan couldn’t remember the last time he got drunk. He missed the feeling, though. The beer definitely got better since 1857. It tasted less like lamb’s piss and more like whatever beer was supposed to taste like. His vision swam. Two of his housemates had to hold him up to get him back in the car.

Through the fog of his hangover the next morning, Dan realized he wasn’t sure if he was in love with Will or in love with Will’s immortality. He wrote another two pages, then proceeded to sleep for two days.

He woke up again to his flatmate knocking on his door. A co-worker of his had just quit and his boss was looking for someone to hire. He said they would probably just hire Dan on the spot because they were desperate. Dan changed and followed him.

“It’s a cleaning job, nothing glamorous,” Ian said on the drive over. “People hire our company when they don’t want to hire regular employees.”

“What do you clean?”

“Usually halfway houses. The occasional large mansion. With those, they do inventory, so don’t even attempt to steal anything. What’s worse is that they’ll wait until you pawn it to catch you. That’s what happened to one guy.”

“Sounds like you lose people a lot.”

“We do. Most of them can’t stomach it.”

They pulled up to the building where five guys were leaning against a large, white van. They all had white hazmat suits on. A couple of them were smoking. Ian led him inside where he introduced Dan to his boss and, like Ian said, Dan was hired immediately.

Dan’s first hire was an office downtown. He could feel the rude stares from the office employees as he vacuumed near their cubicles. _It’s better than puke_ _at least_. He got £65 for the day and realized he’d be a piece of shit for complaining. Someone had already made dinner by the time Dan and Ian got home, and they all sat at the table and ate. Dan had to think back decades to remember the last time he had a home cooked meal with people. It filled him with a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages.

The next day at the cleaning job was puke, and so was the day after that. Dan scrubbed the toilets as a small group of reformed criminals watched. One asked him why his hair ‘stood up like that.’

“Because I want it to?”

“Well, you look like a twat.”

“Keep insulting my workers and you’ll have dirty toilets for the rest of your time here.” Dan glanced behind him and saw his boss shooing everyone away. He said ‘thanks’ under his breath and continued to scrub. He wished he could still get royalty payments on the book he sold back in the twenties. He wondered if Will had come up with a way to still get them.

At five, he packed up his stuff and left. Ian was already waiting in the car.

“TGIF, huh,” Ian said.

“Yeah, sure,” Dan responded, unsure of what that meant. Ian told Dan everyone was going to a pub for a couple drinks. Dan decided to tag along.

Dan, Sophie, Al, and Ian all crowded around a small table in a small pub. Going to open mic nights was a tradition of theirs. Al nudged Dan and told him to try to not get too wasted tonight. They both laughed. They had already missed a couple performers, including a slam poet that was walking off the stage as they ordered drinks. Dan shrugged off his denim jacket and looked over at the MC running the open the mic night as he ran up on stage.

“Next up is a fan favorite, and also a barista at this fine establishment. Everyone please give a warm welcome to Henry Walker.”

A familiar face walked on stage and sat himself on the stool, guitar in hand. At least it wasn’t sixty years this time. Will started with a Simon & Garfunkel song that Dan remembers buying when it came out. Al made a comment saying he had heard better and Dan glared at him. Al didn’t notice. Dan could see everyone swooning at Will, himself included. He knew Will wouldn’t be able to see him because of the lights, but he wished he could. He debated on whether or not to approach him after he was done his set.

As Will walked off, a small group of people followed, so Dan decided to wait.

“You were crushing on him pretty hard, there,” Sophie said to Dan.

“He just looks like someone I used to know.”

“Did you blow that someone? Cos those were the eyes you were giving him.”

Dan flipped her off. He took a sip of his beer.

“You should go say hi. Couldn’t hurt. Worst thing that could happen is that he’s not interested,” Ian said.

“That still hurts,” Dan replied.

“If you do it, I’ll buy the next round.”

Everyone at the table started to cheer and try to cajole Dan into doing it. Obviously they didn’t know the history between them. The crowd had died down so it was just Will sitting at the bar, beer in hand. Dan chugged his.

“Buy the next round and a plate of hot wings and I’ll do it.”

“Deal.”

Dan put his jacket back on and smoothed out his t-shirt. His hands started to tremble, so he stuffed them in his pockets. Will’s back was turned to Dan as he watched the next performer. His shoulders were so broad. He looked the same as he did during the gallery opening. He heard the words echoing in his head. _Let’s just keep our distance, alright?_

“Good set.”

Will shifted in his seat. Dan’s eyes were looking at the floor, at Will’s shoes. They looked like ones Dan had while he was working at the opera house. When Dan finally managed to look up, he saw Will’s eyes, old and green. They were the only part of him that gave away his actual age. He sighed a breath of relief when Will didn’t tell him to leave or go away. He didn’t even bring up the gallery.

“Hey, stranger. I was wondering when you’d find me again.”

Dan felt his face flush red.

“Come sit.” Will patted the stool next to him and waved the bartender to bring more beers. “How’ve you been?”

Dan shrugged. “Reclusive, depressed, overwhelmingly aware of my immortality.” He chuckled and moved his hands out of his pockets and rested them on his legs. Will felt like a distant friend despite the few conversations they’ve had.

“I remember that feeling. I remember thinking that if life had a meaning I’d have figured it out by now, y’know?”

“Exactly! I feel like I should have found whatever purpose I’m supposed to have by now. Instead I’ve just been having existential panic attacks for the past two decades.”

Will laughed. “Those go away, don’t worry. You just have to keep busy.” 

They sat quietly for a couple minutes, listening to the performer. Dan glanced over at his roommates. Sophie smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking. I shouldn’t’ve told you to keep your distance. I’m sorry. It’s just terrifying in a way. Thinking you’re the only one like this for so long and then someone else comes and it makes you wonder,” Will said quietly. “Do you think there’s anyone else?”

“If there is they’re good at hiding.”

They continued to watch. Applause roared around them. Their beers started to sweat.

“Do you want to come back to mine,” Will asked. Dan could only nod. As he got up, he glanced over at his friends. Their faces mirrored each other’s with a look of shock and pride.

Walking into Will’s flat, Dan recognized some of the art that littered the wall. Most of it was hung up in his flat in New York. Will had painted a triptych since the gallery opening and it hung above the couch.  The whole place seemed cool and uninviting. Dan felt like he was at a model flat for an entire complex. He guessed it was one of the ways Will tried to stay unattached. Dan couldn’t stay unattached even if he tried. Making a new place feel like home was a habit that was buried in his bones. He always chose the ones that looked the most lived in, with paint chipping in the kitchen and tiles missing from the bathroom floor. From what Dan could see, Will’s kitchen was white, and newly so. He would inspect the bathroom later.

Will told Dan to make himself at home. Dan heard him rustling around in the kitchen. He fiddled with a button on his jacket. Will walked back into the room holding two glasses of wine and two glasses of water.

“Are you gonna pull a trick that makes you seem like Jesus,” Dan joked, reaching for the wine.

“No, it’s so we don’t get hangovers. I don’t know if it’s part of this,” Will waved his hand in the air, implying their immortality, “or if I’m just a lightweight, but hangovers literally immobilize me for days.” He went back into the kitchen and came out with the bottle of wine. He smiled.

“Check what year it is.”

Dan rolled it in his hands and searched the label. He could see Will waiting in excited anticipation.

“1923?”

“Yeah!” Will frowned when Dan didn’t make the connection. “Remember? It’s the year we met. Sorry about being an asshole then, too.”

“Seems like you have a tendency to be an asshole,” Dan chuckled.

“Only when it comes to people I like, unfortunately.”

Will joined him on the couch and opened the bottle. Dan watched Will’s hands, large and deft, as they wrapped around the neck. They sat in silence as they drank, unsure of what to say. The wine was sweet and fruity. Will was sitting so close to Dan their thighs were touching. Dan felt tense as the silence loomed around them. He was finally in the position he had wanted for so long, but he couldn’t figure out how to act. What should he do? What should he say? _Putting your hand on someone’s knee is a thing nowadays, isn’t it?_ Dan refrained.

“How’d you become immortal,” Will asked. Dan was taken aback. “Or were you born it? I’ve read books by geneticists that say it’s possible.”

Dan laughed. “Okay, but what year were they written?”

“So what if they were actually alchemists and maybe their theory involved meth, medieval people were onto shit.”

“Like only bathing once a month?”

Will narrowed his eyes at Dan. “In the 1800s it seemed like it made sense. We were using cocaine as cough medicine, remember?”

“I honestly never tried it. I was paranoid it would somehow manage to kill me.”

“It gave me a headache.” Will shrugged. He put his wine glass on the coffee table and refilled it. “Seriously though, what happened for you to be immortal?”

“I’m not gonna say. It’s total shit.” Dan smiled over at Will and Will put his hand on Dan’s leg.

“You can tell me. I’m just super curious. I’ll tell you mine.”

Dan sighed. “There was a huge thunderstorm. I was a toddler and I got struck by lightning. I didn’t know I was immortal, or at least had some sort of… ability, until I was about sixteen. Everyone in my family but me died from the flu. Then when I was twenty-seven, I got run over by a train and lived. So yeah. You?”

“My mum sold my soul to a traveler for twenty quid when I was two.” He chugged his wine.

“Are you fucking with me?” Dan stared at Will in disbelief. All he had was a stupid struck by lightning story and Will pulls some shit with Satan?

“I had three brothers and two sisters, do you know how much money twenty quid was for us in 1490? My mum was desperate. Too desperate for her own good, admittedly, but it really helped.”

“But now you’re stuck here without your family or anyone else.”

“Well. I mean. I have you. If you want, that is. We can be stuck here together.”

A wave of relief washed over Dan. Will’s words sounded like a way out of this never ending purgatory that Dan had been living in for over two hundred years. It felt easy to picture himself next to Will a hundred years from now, floating from one place to the next. Maybe there would be a space colony by then. Nothing seemed easier than existing by Will’s side for the next thousand years.

“I’d like that a lot.”

“Really?”

Dan nodded. He tried to keep his smile from ripping his face apart. Will put his glass back on the table and Dan followed. Will leaned in and kissed Dan. It felt just like his dream all those years ago. Will tasted like wine and sweat. Dan immediately began to relate the feeling of Will’s arms around him with home.

“I missed you,” Dan said when he pulled away.

“I missed you, too.”


End file.
